


Through The Spines Unfurling (Five Things You Should Know About Cacti)

by mstigergun



Category: Naruto
Genre: Fluff, I Tried, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Series, Questionably Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3380381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mstigergun/pseuds/mstigergun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee accompanies a trade delegation to Suna for the change in scenery and to enrich his son's education. He learns a great deal about cacti. (Lee/Gaara, post-series)</p><p>For <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/alestar/pseuds/alestar">alestar</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alestar/gifts).



> For [alestar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alestar) for International Fanworks Day 2015. Prompted: "Lee/Gaara, of course-- something post-series? Prompts: _a change of scenery_ or _negotiation_ or _five things you should know about cacti._ " Naturally, I had to use all three!
> 
> Features Lee's kid, who goes by Ichiro in this iteration, at around 6 years of age. Questionably canon compliant as it's been a long time since I made sure I was up to scratch with my Naruto canon/lore, so I did get a little hand-wavey on occasion. The honourifics are probably awful, I admit, but I thought they were important in keeping with Lee's character.

_Cacti are cautious. Their primary concern is self-preservation. They are thus slow to reveal themselves. They can go for years in solitude, waiting in cool, inward silence for the signs to align in a way that promises a fortuitous growing season. Periods of rest may seem to mimic death: cacti require next to no water and surprisingly cold temperatures if they are to bloom again. Dormancy gives way to life eventually, but in its own time. Cacti are cautious. They cannot be rushed._

*

In the end, or in the beginning if he’s being accurate, they accompany the Hokage to Suna because Lee needs a change of scenery. He has tried all of his usual methods for overcoming restlessness – four-hundred laps around the village with triple his ankle weights! two-hundred push-ups with his son sitting on his back and cheering him on! climbing all of the stairs of the highest building in Konoha on his hands, _twice_! – but none of them work.

He is restless. He’s stopped sleeping, something Lee considers a personal failure. A shinobi must always be ready for battle, and a shinobi who cannot get his requisite hours of sleep during peacetime may not be fully prepared to defend his village, his Hokage, his family.

In truth, he has been restless since he first heard that a delegation from Konoha planned to travel to Suna for trade talks. Not that thinking of Suna should set him on edge. A glorious village with a supremely talented leader.

It’s the latter thing that hounds Lee when he should be sleeping and he takes to doubling and tripling his usual exercises to beat his thoughts into submission.

His restlessness only increases to the point of a kunai when Naruto comes to visit before the delegation leaves. Naruto enters with his usual good cheer and sits at Lee’s kitchen table, tossing blunted training shuriken at Lee’s son. Ichiro enthusiastically bats them out of the air or catches them and flicks them back at the Hokage.

“I don’t know,” Naruto says, when Lee asks him about their negotiations and talks with Suna, “it’s whatever Sakura and Temari dreamt up. Something about _minerals_ and _economic development_ and _secondary production_. You know, boring Sakura-and-Temari stuff.” He pauses, catching in one hand the three shuriken Ichiro flung straight at his head without flicking his gaze from Lee.

“If I cannot make Naruto-sensei use both hands to stop my shurikens before he finishes his tea, I will run ten laps around the village with double my leg weights!” proclaims Ichiro, fist thrust high in the air.

Pride swells beneath Lee’s ribs, warm and golden as the purest sunlight. “You can do it! Your heart is pure and your intentions are noble!” Lee insists, giving his son a dramatic thumbs up. At the gesture, the boy whoops and scurries off to find an ideal angle of attack.

“So you’re going to Suna for trade, Naruto-kun,” says Lee. “An excellent idea!” A shuriken flies over his shoulder, Naruto’s hand expertly plucking it from the air and flicking it across the room to the place Ichiro has just vacated.

“Nah,” Naruto yawns, stretching. “I mean, that’s why the delegation is going, but I really just want to see my buddy Gaara. Now that he’s without his worse half. Have to wonder how he’s making out.”

Lee blinks very rapidly. Without his worse half? He’s heard the phrase _better half_ , used lovingly to refer to one’s spouse and the power of love as a means improve all involved, but Naruto’s turn of phrase is new. Has Gaara _met_ someone – someone Naruto doesn’t approve of?

Something squirms inside of Lee’s stomach, an old and new discomfort – one that’s seen him running laps around the village in the middle of the night as his son sleeps happily in the next room. “Naruto-kun,” he says slowly, as the Hokage again catches the shurikens that come shooting through the air toward him in a single hand, an almost lazy movement, “I am certain that the Kazekage is capable of selecting a worthwhile other half. You shouldn’t refer to them like that. Although –”

The thought comes suddenly, like a flash of lightning inside of his skull. Lee surges to his feet, fist slamming against the table. “Is this person someone who has hurt Gaara-san? If so, you must allow me to come with you to avenge –”

Naruto snorts into his tea, blue eyes bright. “I meant the _demon_ , Lee. _Shukaku_.”

The air goes out of him like a balloon that’s been pricked. Well, that’s good. Not good that Gaara doesn’t have someone; good that he hasn’t been _hurt_ by someone.

Lee sits.

“Although,” Naruto says, turning his cup around on the table thoughtfully, “maybe you _could_ come. You and the kid. You’re always on about how important it is that he sees the world. To, uh, you know. However you say it.”

“Embrace all the incredible differences the world has to offer with an open heart and open mind,” Lee fills in matter-of-factly.

“Open heart and open mind!” cries Ichiro from the corner of the room, pausing in his attempt on the Hokage long enough to clamp a hand firmly over his heart.

Lee smiles warmly at his son. A more virtuous spirit could not be found!

But Suna –

“Naruto-kun,” said Lee. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, not on such an important mission of negotiation and trade talks.” Lee knows he would be able to accompany the Hokage and not slow him down – he can run for days without need for sleep or food or even much water! – but his son. Ichiro is still a child in the glorious springtime of his youth. He wouldn’t be able to match the Hokage in speed, even if Naruto slowed down for him, as a man so generous would certainly do.

Naruto waves a hand. “Look, it’s been a long time since either of us has seen Gaara. It’ll be good to get to Suna and bug him for a bit. Besides,” and here he raises his eyebrows pointedly, for reasons Lee doesn’t understand, “you’re interested in learning more about who he’s seeing. If he’s seeing anyone. I don’t know. This way you can ask him and make sure any person he might be dating is treating him right! And Ichiro can learn all about Sunagakure and the desert and cacti and stuff.”

Lee turns the thought over in his mind. It _would_ be good for Ichiro to leave the forest. They’d gone on several trips to other Hidden Villages already and each time Ichiro had eagerly embraced learning about different ways of life – different customs and dialects and the skills necessary for thriving gloriously in each nation.

He swallows, forcing his mind to the second point. If Gaara _is_ seeing someone, like Naruto said, a good friend would want to be sure that he was treated with the respect, devotion, and purity of intention that he deserved!

But seeing Gaara after so many years, after the last time –

Even thinking about it makes a flush start to inch its way up his neck. He forces his attention to what he can learn from his mistakes and what example Lee hopes to set for his son.

A friend doesn’t let past embarrassments keep him from another friend's side! And Lee wants to be an excellent friend, especially after his failures in that area. A chance to correct the missteps of his younger years. Excellent!

“Let me check with Ichiro’s teachers,” Lee says finally. “And Sakura-san. We wouldn’t want to get in the way of your negotiations, Naruto-kun!”

The Hokage shrugs loosely, swirling the dregs of his tea the porcelain cup. “You do what you need to do feel okay about coming. But you should come. He’d want to see you. And the kid, I’m sure.”

As if on cue, Ichiro flies into the air above Naruto’s head, flinging no less than _four_ shuriken at him. With a deft hand, Naruto picks three out of the air.

His other hand lifts and intercepts the last one, which was angled toward his shoulder.

“Oh no!” he says, eyes flaring wide. “I had to use _both hands_!”

Lee tries to frown – Naruto knows he doesn’t like it when he lets Ichiro win, because even failure can be a victory when it is learned from! – but the expression melts off his face when Ichiro flings himself into the Hokage’s arms, laughing madly.

Lee tries to imagine his son perching happily in Gaara’s lap, beaming up at him with a smile bright with adoration. Something gives way in his chest at the image.

He’ll think on it, and perhaps he and Ichiro will go to Sunagakure. Perhaps.

*


	2. ii

_There are thousands of species of cacti, each unique in its means of self-preservation, proliferation, and visual presentation. Some tower taller than even the largest men and women, while others hug the ground in an eternal, dedicated embrace. Some cacti are flat, others stand in cities of columns. Certain cacti have blossoms that are bright, that proclaim an enthusiastic extravagance against the bleak colours of the desert. A few produce flowers rarely and those that they do bring forth smell of decay to better attract scavenging insects. Still, they all share certain similarities: they store water for drier days and they cloak themselves in spines as a defense against those who would hurt them. All cacti are patient, then, and they are all cautious._

*

The restlessness does not go away on the journey, although Lee ensures he is kept productively busy, flying around their convoy in a wide, looping perimeter. He won’t have someone sneak up on the Hokage unaware; he won’t allow anything to happen to jeopardize these trade talks!

Ichiro tries to follow him the first few times that Lee heads out to ensure the safety and well-being of their group. When Lee returns, he finds his son held firmly against Naruto’s side, one of the Hokage’s arms pressing him in place. Ichiro sleeps soundly, face squished against Naruto’s robes.

“He didn’t make it far,” Naruto offers, hitching Ichiro’s body up as he begins to slip. “Sakura found him. He was just standing there and then he started _crying_ –”

Lee stares at Naruto, horrified. He has failed as a father! He left his son behind and made him cry! And he has failed as a member of this party, causing the Hokage and his most important advisor distress! The apology is ready to burst from his throat when Sakura appears at his side, her hand warm on his shoulder. “Lee-kun, please,” she says. With a smooth step, she plucks Ichiro from Naruto’s side and wraps the boy in her own arms. “We’re glad to have you along. We’re glad to have Ichiro along.”

He learns very quickly that he cannot leave Ichiro behind unless he’s leaving him at Naruto’s side charged to be the Hokage’s fierce protector. Rock Lee’s son is steadfast and dedicated – noble virtues! Although they sometimes get in the way of other pursuits.

They arrive in Suna and Ichiro’s eyes are round as saucers as he looks around the village. His eyes grow rounder still as he peers up at the guards that escorts them to the Kazekage’s residence and offices at the centre of the town. His hand stays firmly nestled inside of Lee’s grip.

Lee is about to ask one of the guards how he might find the residence they will be given during their stay – to interrupt these important negotiations and conversations with his yawning child, weary from the trip and the overwhelming _newness_ of Suna, would be a great failing indeed! – when Temari and Kankuro step out of the building. They’re older, of course, as all of the delegates are – Temari’s face is more angular, her smile a little less barbed, and while Kankuro still wears his paint, the design is softer and more delicate. Like he’s hiding less.

Temari is at Sakura’s side immediately, clasping her hands, while Kankuro’s ringed eyes flick between all of the members of the delegation. His lazy stare falls pointedly on Lee and then down to Ichiro. With a side-step, he wanders over as pleasantries fill the air and comes to stand by Lee. “Holy shit,” he says. “You have a kid.”

Ichiro drops Lee’s hand, snapping a salute. “I am Rock Ichiro! Son of the great Rock Lee! Soon to be a valuable shinobi of Konohakagure!”

“He even _sounds_ like you,” Kankuro drawls.

“It is wonderful to see you again, Kankuro-san,” Lee beams, thrusting out of his hand and shaking Kankuro’s enthusiastically, although the other ninja’s grip is limp – perhaps in surprise.

“Gaara’s going to lose his mind,” Kankuro adds, still blinking down at Ichiro. “Rock Lee, _a dad_. You, what,” his attention is on Lee again, “got married? Got a wife back in the forest?”

It is a question Lee expects. Still, he feels the weight of the words like a training vest filled with the heaviest weights it can accommodate. “No,” he says brightly, clasping a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s just us! Two brave men navigating the noble wonder of family together!”

What he doesn’t expect is Ichiro’s reaction to the words. Underneath Lee’s palm, his son’s tiny shoulder gives a shake. Lee looks down and sees that Ichiro’s wide eyes have filled with tears. His mouth is held in a trembling line, stubbornly refusing to fall.

Lee feels his heart break, a sharp and familiar ache.

Kankuro instantly drops down to a knee. “Oh, hey, you know what?” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper as he brings his eyes level with Ichiro’s. “The Kazekage, my brother, he didn’t grow up with a mom either. And look at him. One of the most powerful ninja in all the world! He didn’t even have the benefit of having a dad like yours.”

A line of tears spills over Ichiro’s cheeks. His mouth still makes a hard line, although it’s trembling. “There is nothing wrong with strong emotion, Ichiro,” Lee insists, slipping his hand to son’s back. “It indicates a purity of heart and nobility of spirit! Great virtues indeed! You should never be ashamed of how you feel.”

“Hey. Do you like puppets? I have a _bunch_ of puppets. Want to see?” Kankuro extends a hand.

In an instant, it’s as if all the worries in the world have faded. Ichiro scrubs the back of his hand across his face, sniffing loudly. “You have puppets? Wait.” His face shapes itself into a wide-eyed picture of seriousness. “You’re _Kankuro_ of _Sunagakure_! I _learned_ about you in school! Dad,” an insistent, desperate look, “ _Can I go_?”

“Of course!” Lee blusters, used to the rapid changes in Ichiro’s moods. The genuine power of emotion in youth – it is magnificent, but also exhausting.

“If you want, I can bring him back to your residence when we’re done hanging out.” Already, the puppeteer is standing, Ichiro hovering at his hip.

“If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience,” Lee says. With a handwave and a grin, Kankuro and Ichiro head off through the crowd, Ichiro’s hand reaching up to take the puppet master’s.

Lee watches the shape of his son’s back in the distance. This is excellent. Meeting new people, learning about different places – it’s why they came to Suna! And far better for Ichiro to be thinking on puppets than feeling…

He sighs. Ashamed. Well, Lee will have to do better of reminding his son just how much he is loved and by how many people! If Ichiro sees reason to cry again when someone mentions his mother, Lee will –

He’ll –

Thinking up an incentive for not protecting his son’s heart is difficult. Laps and push-ups seem inadequate. He looks through the gathering, Temari now leading Sakura into the low, tan building, Naruto following behind, head bent to the one next to him.

Red hair, the colour of blood – longer than Lee remembered. It looks softer.

It’s suddenly hard to breathe. His fingers feel numb at the very tips. Lee wonders distantly if Ichiro’s upheaval has affected him because of the supreme depth of his love for his son – like an echo in a wide and magnificent canyon, speaking to grandeur and significance.

But then Gaara’s head turns and his eyes catch Lee’s. They watch each other for what feels like forever and suddenly Lee is _falling_ into that broad canyon, tumbling straight down toward the bottom and –

Gaara’s jerks his head down, the slightest nod. His face remains a mask.

Lee beams back. How good it is to see his friend again! How he’s missed Gaara-san! The purity and nobility of their friendship simply caught him off guard – a completely natural reaction when they’d been apart for so long.

He lingers outside. Lee has come along not for the delegation, but to show his son Sunagakure. And to see how Gaara is doing.

He’s doing well, Lee thinks. He looks – rested. He stands straighter, taller. Perhaps he’s still a little thin, but that’s nothing an excellent training regiment wouldn’t fix. Besides, Gaara is Kazekage. He has many things to worry about besides building musculature and, besides, he’s still the most powerful ninja Lee has ever met. He could defeat almost any enemy before they came close enough for taijutsu to even be relevant.

Lee likes to think he could give Gaara a bit of a challenge, though. In fact, he might still be able to offer his talents in that area, even if it’s from a distance. For Lee’s peace of mind only!

With that idea in mind, Lee checks the perimeter of the building just to make certain that it’s secure. Gaara doesn’t have Shukaku hovering in the back of his mind any longer; Lee would be a poor friend if he didn’t do everything in his power to ensure Gaara’s safety and well-being.

On his third check, one of Suna’s ANBU materialize by Lee’s elbow. “Can I provide you with an escort to your residence?” she asks, tone waspish.

Lee opens his mouth to say that he just wants to check the south side of the offices for the fourth time when her hand catches his elbow. “Really,” she says, “ _I insist_.”

Well, she has a job to do and he wouldn’t want her thinking he believed her incapable. The noble thing to do, the kind thing, now that he’s certain the building is secure, is to allow her to guide him to the envoy residence. So he does just that.

*

 


	3. iii

_Cacti bristle with spines as a defence. In place of soft leaves, they favour spikes – a proactive means of keeping themselves from harm. Some cacti even go so far as to coat each spike with poison. Yet that which also hurts can heal: softened against coals, cacti spines can serve in place of sutures. What keeps cacti safe from destruction can also preserve life for those wise enough to use see the value in this humble, clever plant._

*

They move around each other in broad, sweeping circles. The Kazekage is caught up in these talks arranged by Temari and Sakura. Gaara is evidently more keen on participating in the negotiations than Naruto, who has taken to joining Lee on his runs outside the city walls. Because Lee has already slowed down for Ichiro’s sake, Naruto-kun is able to keep up.

“It’s so _boring_ ,” whines Naruto after they finish their third lap and stop for a rest, both the Hokage and Ichiro flopping loudly on some sandstone. “I don’t care about _rates of conversion_. What I worry about is invasion and conspiracy – not that this other stuff isn’t important. But it’s why I have Sakura.”

“Your relationship is a true example of how we all benefit from friendship,” Lee says, wiping sweat from his forehead. Even at the slower pace, he’s finding the heat makes the run an acceptable challenge.

That, and the fact that he’s increased all of his weights. And he’s gotten almost no sleep in the days since they arrived.

Ichiro is already up, climbing over the rock on which Naruto is still sprawled. He reaches the top and squints out at the landscape in its endless browns and yellows and oranges. “Dad,” he says, after Naruto stops panting quite so loudly. “I want to learn about those!”

Lee climbs the rock to stand at Ichiro’s side. His son points dramatically to a cactus, a tall and thin plant bristling with spines.

“Your curiosity of mind is magnificent!” Lee cries, clapping a hand to Ichiro’s shoulder so hard that his son stumbles forward. “We’ll ask Kankuro who might tell us all about cacti and then we’ll go on a trip of great discover and learning!”

A little over-enthusiastic, perhaps, but Lee has been cooped up in the village since they arrived and the restlessness he hoped would abate has continued. Even after his long exercise regimen. Even after he’s scoured every inch of the city for possible dangers to the Kazekage.

And the Hokage, of course, although Naruto still has a demon living inside of him and thus doesn’t need Lee’s supreme diligence to quite the same extent.

When Lee returns Naruto to the Kazekage’s offices, Kankuro is waiting to spirit Ichiro away again. Lee starts to protest – one of Gaara’s most valued advisors, spending time away from his duties for the sake of his child – when Kankuro cuts him off.

“Hey,” he says, “Gaara said it was okay. I told him I like your kid and your kid likes my puppets. Besides, Temari’s the one pulling all the strings in this kind of situation. Not much use for me.” He wiggles his fingers to illustrate the point.

“You – told the Kazekage about my son?”

“Yeah. He already knew. Don’t ask me how. Didn’t know that –” a surreptitious glance at Ichiro, whose face is tilted up and whose eyes are bright and alert, “you know. It’s the Rock Lee and kid show. The supreme duo!”

Ichiro goes still by Kankuro’s side, his eyes growing rounder still. “You told the Kazekage about _me_?” he breathes. “What did you say? Kankuro-sensei,” he adds belatedly.

The puppet master’s mouth curls in a little knowing smile. “I _told_ you, kiddo, I’m not your sensei. I’m your _buddy_.”

“Kankuro-san,” Ichiro tries, eyebrows coming together in panicked desperation. “What did you tell him?”

“Only that you were every inch your father’s kid. And that you’re a pretty cool guy for someone who wears leg warmers in the desert.” The skin around his eyes crinkles beneath his paint.

Ichiro’s face lights up like sunlight glinting off the endless windows of Konoha and Lee’s heart warms. Some days, he feels as if he might burst with paternal pride. The noblest of feelings, seeing his son rise to his potential! Seeing the greatness Ichiro will one day achieve because he believes in his dreams and believes in himself.

They turn to leave, Lee already eyeing a route to the roof so he might survey the city and decide where to start his search for threats, when a shadow darkens the doorway.

A shadow with dark red hair and studious eyes lined in black.

Again, Lee gets that peculiar feeling, as if he slipped off of a cliff and is plunging down toward the ground.

Except that Lee would never slip! He has trained his body in balance and depth perception and accuracy of movements. But the feeling is the same.

“Naruto said you want to learn about the desert,” Gaara says. He steps out of the doorway.

Ichiro’s eyes are wide as saucers.

“Kazekage,” Lee begins.

A sharp gesture with his hand. “Don’t, Lee. You’ve known me too long for that.”

But next to Lee another voice echoes the title. “Kazekage,” a breathless and adoring whisper.

Gaara tilts his head and looks down at Ichiro, whose hands are clenched into tight fists in front of him.

“ _My father has told me that you are the greatest ninja in the world!_ ” Ichiro blurts, eyes shining. “ _He said you are a magnificent fighter and an exceptional thinker of extraordinary heart!_ ”

Lee goes very still, heat crawling up the back of his neck. These things are entirely true – Lee doesn’t say such things without meaning them in his heart of hearts – and if the Kazekage asked, if _Gaara_ asked, Lee would certainly _tell_ him but –

Ichiro continues. “ _I am very honoured to meet you, Kazekage-sama_. If I disappoint you, I will run one hundred laps around Sungakure!”

Gaara blinks once. “How would you disappoint me?” he asks.

Lee’s son hesitates. His brow furrows for a moment. “If – if I fail to live up to what you would expect from the son of the great Rock Lee!”

“Unlikely,” intones the Kazekage, still watching Ichiro fixedly. “You seem to have inherited all of his finer qualities.”

Now, Lee’s face is flushed too. He can feel it.

Gaara’s attention flicks away from Ichiro and to Lee, a level, contemplative stare. “It’s been a long time,” he says. He isn’t wearing the Kazekage’s uniform, Lee notes distantly, instead dressed in a simple outfit in a deep mahogany that matches the darkness of his hair. A small gourd is tied to his side, held in place by a strap slung low across his narrow hips.

Not, Lee thinks, that he should be noticing the precise shape of Gaara’s hips. Not that he is. He is not.

“Far too long!” Lee cries, forcing his way through the heat clouding his thoughts and flushing his face. It’s a hot day, that’s all, and he’s just returning from exercise. “I would have come to visit sooner, except –”

His eyes jump to his son, who is hanging on to every word, face still beaming with admiration and awe.

“School is very important for young minds,” he finishes lamely.

“School is very important for young minds!” Ichiro parrots, fist held aloft in front of him.

“It’s actually uncanny,” mutters Kankuro with a shake of his head. “And that’s coming from someone who’s a _puppet master_.”

“There aren’t any storms on the horizon,” Gaara says.

Lee blinks, confused. How the Kazekage has gotten from _school_ to _storms_ is beyond him, but that’s fine. He can wait patiently and Gaara will make things clear; the man has a great mind. Lee will endeavour to keep up!

They stand in silence for several moments.

Gaara’s eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance. “Did you want to go or not?”

“Go… where?” Lee raises his eyebrows. He knows the expression makes him look, well, _freaky_ , Sakura has said, but it's genuine and he cares more about the open and honest display of true emotion than his looks. Meagre as they are.

“To the desert. Naruto said you –” Gaara makes a frustrated sound, half-turns, his arms crossed tightly against his chest.

“Kazekage-sama,” breathes Ichiro in reverent tones, “are you saying you want to _take us_? That I can learn the _ways of the desert_ from _you_?”

Lee stares at Gaara blankly. Gaara nods once.

Oh no. Lee can’t – he can’t ask –

“Your time is very valuable!” he blurts. “The offer is too generous, Gaara-san, to take a break from such important matters to satisfy my son’s curiosity! Surely there is someone else who might –”

Again, he fixes Lee with a narrow, still gaze. “I spent hours wandering the desert alone as a child. There’s no one better equipped to explain its workings to your son.”

“I – Certainly, Gaara-san, you are the most knowledgeable, but your value is –”

“Vastly overstated when Temari and Sakura are in the same room together,” Gaara says flatly. “I’ve been listening to them talk about the intricacies of trade and production and interest rates for days. A break would not be… amiss.”

Lee notices that he’s breathing harder than he should be. As penance, he will triple-check every roof in all of Suna while Ichiro plays with Kankuro! A ninja shouldn’t be out of breath from a conversation.

However startling. However –

Whatever else this is.

When they leave the next day, it is with Lee’s personal assurance that he will not inconvenience Gaara in the slightest. That the trip will go perfectly and smoothly and there will be no cause for concern! They set out toward a a place to set up their tents for the overnight trip, Ichiro dogging Gaara’s every footstep and staring up at him with wide eyes and a wider grin.

Lee has made assurances for himself. He cannot make them for his son.

“Kazakage-sama,” Ichiro says, bobbing near Gaara’s elbow, “When did you first meet my father?”

“At the Chunin exams.” He walks with his arms crossed, scanning the horizon.

“When did you first meet Naruto-sensei?”

“At the Chunin exams.”

“Were you more powerful then because you still had the demon inside of you?”

Lee very nearly stumbles. “Ichiro,” he says, jogging up to his son’s side. “We’ve talked about this before. You can ask the Hokage questions that aren’t appropriate to ask –”

“It’s fine, Lee,” says Gaara evenly, his face an impassive mask except for his flinty stare. “No, Ichiro, I was not more powerful. I lacked control. I’m sure your father has told you of the importance of control.”

“Yes!” proclaims Ichiro. “A fine ninja must always be in control of their body, mind, emotions, and chakra. A ninja who lacks control is dangerous to all those around them!”

“Just so,” Gaara says. “Now look around us and tell me how many different types of cacti you can identify from where we are.”

They arrive at a divot in the desert, Ichiro breathless from running from cacti to cacti and racing back to make his _report_ to the Kazekage with all the earnestness of a newly minted chunin back from their first B-level mission. The camp is chiselled from rough stone and protected from the worst of the winds should a storm blow in. Lee sets the tents up, insisting that he handle the routine preparations of camp so that Ichiro can benefit from Gaara’s generous tutelage.

To see a young mind unfold like a blossom under the keen attentions of the Kazekage, Ichiro’s eyes flashing as he listens adoringly! A picture to warm Lee’s heart with the mighty power of friendship, learning, and the sharing of knowledge with the next generation.

Once they arrive, Gaara sense Ichiro out to find a certain type of cactus he has already identified for Lee’s son. Before Ichiro can rush out, he carefully reminds him to be careful of the spines. “Some,” he says, “produce a poison that’s very deadly. Use a light touch.”

“Yes, Kazekage-sama!” Ichiro cries.

At Lee's panicked look and after Ichiro has galloped off, Gaara says, "He won't find any that will kill him. Not in this part of the desert."

"I never doubt the wisdom of your guidance," Lee says, unpacking the strange tent and eyeing the tangle of delicate poles and thin white fabric. Perhaps his offer was a little premature. Konoha has much more sensible tents.

He feels Gaara’s eyes on him as he begins to try to piece together the puzzle of the tents. It makes the back of his neck itch, sweat prickling between his shoulderblades.

By the time Ichiro returns, Lee has determined how to go about turning his pile of poles and cloth into reasonably secure tents.

“What can you tell me about this one?” asks Gaara, crouching to examine the offering Ichiro presents him with – a flat section of cactus carefully wrapped in cloth.

Ichiro’s brow furrows, something Lee can make out even in the dwindling light of day. His fingers unthinkingly secure ties as he prepares the tents, all his attention fixed on the scene behind him. It’s a father’s prerogative to be interested in his son’s achievements! “It grew close to the ground and has flat arms. It’s an opuntia?” Ichiro pronounces the new word very carefully, with as much care as if practicing hand seals.

“If you needed water?” Gaara watches him steadily.

Ichiro frowns, turning the cactus segment over in his hands. Gaara waits in the silence not, Lee is happy to note, filling it, as some teachers do when children don’t immediately land on the desired piece of knowledge. “I would use my knife,” he offers finally, “and slit this in two.”

“Good,” says Gaara. “You can also eat this one. Use this blade to remove the spines. You can peel it.” He offers Ichiro a thin, curved knife, the metal flashing in the dim light.

Ichiro hesitates, blinking up at Gaara. He knows he’s not supposed to use a knife, a real one, unless Lee is supervising. Blunted shurikens are one thing; sharp knives are another. Lee can see his son turning over the dilemma in his mind and he waits to see how Ichiro will choose to act. He wouldn’t take this great learning opportunity from his son! This chance to test his mettle!

“What.” A flat statement without inflection.

“Dad says –” Ichiro begins.

And, just like that, all of Lee’s attention fastened firmly on his son and Gaara, his grasp slips and the end of one of the razor sharp, barbed tent pegs catches his arm and rips a seam up his skin.

Lee freezes, stiffening. He looks down at his arm, where his jumpsuit has been parted and now darkens with blood.

An unacceptable mistake! He will – he will disassemble and reassemble these tents four times tomorrow in less than an hour for practice. And he’ll make himself –

In an instant, Gaara is at his side. “What did you do,” hisses the Kazekage, dry hands pressing hard against Lee’s arm. His eyes flash, pale as the desert sky in the morning.

Distantly, Lee is aware that Gaara is standing _very_ close, that his grip is _very_ firm on Lee’s arm.

Ichiro appears at his father’s side. “What _happened_?” A tiny little quake in his voice twists Lee’s heart.

Gaara seems unconcerned. “Ichiro, go. The tall cactus with the columns – bring me back an arm.” A pause, then, more seriously, “ _Now_.”

In a flash, he’s gone. Always the dedicated pupil!

Then Lee remembers where they are. “Gaara,” Lee says, his voice suddenly raspy. “Ichiro shouldn’t go by himself. It’s getting dark.”

If Gaara were anyone else, he might roll his eyes. Instead, his features tighten. “If you think my guard would allow me to travel into the desert with a single shinobi and his child, you’re mistaken. Your boy will be fine.”

Lee blinks. His arm throbs – a reminder of his failure! He must do better next time. He has to –

“Stop _thinking_ ,” Gaara snaps. “Just sit.”

He allows himself to be ushered to the centre of the camp. “Gaara-san,” Lee says, “I’m very used to injuring myself. I’ll be fine. I just need to–”

“I told you to stop,” Gaara says. His voice is flat, the waspish anger that had animated his words earlier gone. Lee prefers it when Gaara sounds annoyed, Lee thinks; when he goes perfectly still –

Lee often misreads situations, he knows that. It becomes harder to know what to do or say when Gaara puts on his mask, and he wants desperately to _say the right thing_.

With a swift movement, Gaara rips the sleeve of Lee’s jumpsuit and examines the tacky edges of the cut. Lee spares a moment’s regret for his jumpsuit. It had done nothing wrong; the error was all Lee’s. But, then, he had a closet full of identical clothes.

“You’re lucky that we’re not in the middle of a sandstorm. And that it was a clean cut.” With nimble teeth, Gaara tears a strip from his own robes and presses it firmly against Lee’s arm. “Hold.” And then he disappears in the dusk.

Lee clamps his own palm over his arm. His skin is hot, cheeks burning.

Stupid. A stupid, careless mistake.

Still, mistakes provide opportunities for improvement, Lee reminds himself. He will learn from his errors and better divide his attention next time!

Gaara returns with the medi-kit, prising Lee’s hand off of his forearm. “It’s really nothing,” Lee insists as the Kazekage leans in close, pressing exploratory fingers against the edges of the cut. Dark blood gushes out under his ministrations.

“Nothing.” He looks up, so very near to Lee that his breath is a warm puff against Lee’s skin.

The heat crawling up the back of his neck flares, like a house giving way to fire.

“You,” Gaara says very carefully, “do this. I’ve seen you do this.”

“Do what?” Because Lee is unsure what Gaara means. _This_. Cut himself? Not often!

“You _push_ until there’s nothing left,” Gaara says, his voice low. “You haven’t been sleeping, because you’re running around Suna at all hours of the night. You’re triple-checking all of the work my guards are doing. You’re doing your _ridiculous_ exercises in the desert heat. You’re raising a child _on your own_.”

The facts of Lee’s life, laid out in front of him in a tidy row. Like the toy shinobi Ichiro likes to play with.

The Kazekage has noticed all of these things about him.

Gaara must be able to see the thought. “I know what goes on in my city. I don’t sleep much and it’s my duty to ensure that my people are safe,” he says, tone as flat as the edge of a knife. “I certainly am aware when my ANBU feel that their competence is under question. And Kankuro talks.”

Well. “It’s nothing!” Lee insists. “I like to challenge myself! You know that, Gaara-san. I push until there’s nothing left because it is only by scraping bottom that we can find new depths!”

A soft sound, something between a huff and a sigh. Gaara opens his mouth to say something else, but Ichiro appears at his side, holding a long cactus stem in front of him. In an instant, Gaara fixates on Lee’s son.

“That’s the right one,” he says.

Ichiro lights up, brighter than if Lee had just given him an Inspiring Speech praising his powers of perception and excellent studiousness.

Different things matter in the desert, Lee thinks distantly. Resources are far and few between and maybe they mean more for their scarcity.

He is very aware of Gaara’s fingers holding his arm. Their gentle but insistent pressure, the pale curve of his neck.

“Light a fire and pluck the spines from it. Do you know how to make sutures?”

Ichiro shakes his head.

“I’ll show you.”

Immediately, his son bends to task, scurrying away to get to work and impress the Kazekage.

“Gaara-san,” Lee begins weakly, “I’m sure there are bandages in the medi-kit that would hold well enough until we get back to Suna.”

“I’m certain that there are.” A pause. And then, in a firmer voice, “I would have your son learn this skill. Naruto said you brought him here to enrich his education. It will be done.”

When the spines have been readied, long and thick bristles made into supple strands like thread, Gaara stitches the still-bleeding cut in Lee’s arm. His fingers are steady and firm, his touch delicate.

Such precision from a man who could bring the desert crashing in around them.

“You’re quieter,” Gaara says, once he’s finished and set Ichiro to cleaning the flat ovals of cactus that he’ll then fry over the fire. Now that he has Lee’s permission to use the blade Gaara offered, Ichiro throws himself enthusiastically to preparing their meal.

Lee considers saying something about the importance of careful thought and using words to honouring those around him with truth and nobility of purpose, but he’s distracted from that train of thought by Gaara’s hands, which linger, cool and steady, on his arm.

“You’re less quiet,” Lee offers instead.

Gaara makes a soft sound in his throat. He turns his head to look at Ichiro. “Children don’t usually like me,” he says after a moment.

In the wide open space of the desert, the stars speckling the endless sky above them, he might have thought little words like that would be lost. They aren’t. Lee feels each one under his ribs.

“You’re a strong and talented leader! I’m sure everyone admires you!”

Gaara finally lets go of Lee’s arm, rocking back to sit on the firm stone. “They’re afraid. I may not have Shukaku any longer, but –”

“Kazekage-sama!” Ichiro cries, darting over with an offering of split cactus in his hand.

Gaara leans in. “Acceptable. Do the next one.”

“If I don’t do it faster than the first,” Ichiro says, standing taller, “I’ll – I’ll collect _one hundred_ pieces of cactus to practice with tomorrow.”

“You won’t,” Gaara says. “That would be wasteful.”

Lee stands, turning back to their half-assembled tents, hands on his hips. He will set himself the challenging of getting them both erected before Ichiro finishes cleaning all the cacti. If he doesn’t succeed, he’ll –

Gaara raises to stand by his side. “I’m helping.”

“Gaara-san,” Lee says, looking down at the Kazekage, whose arms are crossed as he surveys the tents. “You don’t have to. I am more than capable of managing these on my own.”

“I know.” Still, Gaara works at Lee’s side, silent except for when Ichiro appears to ask for guidance. If their hands brush occasionally when fastening a tie or ensuring lashing is adequately secured, it is Lee’s clumsy fault. Gaara is a man of precision!

Lee – Well. He works in broad strokes.

When they finally retire for the night, Ichiro tucked against Lee’s side and snoring against his father’s chest, Lee runs a finger over the tidy sutures in his arm. Twelve little knots made by Gaara’s steady hands. Twelve spines meant to inflict pain turned into ways to heal.

*

 


	4. iv

_Cacti are masters of self-preservation. They store water within themselves, hoarding the precious resource to sustain them during drought. They hide a remarkably complex root system that adeptly captures every drop of water that comes their way. These plants understand that fine things come but rarely and thus let no opportunity to suck the nectar of the world go uncapitalized. Should they have need, cacti can go for years without water. When rain does fall, however, they make the most of every drop._

*

Gaara stops by the envoy residence after they return to Suna. He offers a kunai in way of explanation. “The sutures,” he says after Lee stares at him blankly for several moments.

“Oh!” When they sit at the small table, Lee rolls his sleeve up and offers the arm to Gaara, who uses the tip of the knife to delicately snip each suture.

The cut is red and ugly, but it’s healing well. Gaara’s fingers hesitate over the mark, brushing thoughtfully over the puckered skin. Another small movement and he’s examining older marks – scars so faded that Lee’s forgotten they’re there.

Lee swallows thickly, his skin fevered under Gaara’s cool touch. He shoots the Kazekage a broad smile. “Your handiwork,” he says, trying to sound less unbalanced than he feels, “was exceptional! You’re a man with infinite talents. I could not be happier that my son has found such a person to look up to.”

Gaara withdraws, setting the kunai down. His back is very straight, like an unyielding metal rod. The air in the room is very warm, Lee thinks, and his skin itches under his jumpsuit. Despite the rigidity of his posture, Gaara seems as at ease as always. In perfect command of himself.

It is one of the many reasons Lee admires him so much. Precision and control! Such traits cultivated by a man through the strength of his character when others would have fallen to chaos and wildness.

“My ability to be a role model is… questionable," says Gaara, who Lee has personally considered an exemplar for years. Silently and at a distance, yes, but he always thinks of Gaara with sincere admiration and fondness.

Fondness. That’s the root of this particular warmth beyond the heat of the day and the heat in the room. Noble and friendly affection!

“You’re an excellent role model!” Lee frowns, leaning forward. “Has someone – Did someone say you aren’t?”

He knows Gaara said that children don't like him. Perhaps some parents have unthinkingly spoken ill of Gaara. If so, Lee will find them and correct their perception.

“Did someone say I’m not a good role model,” Gaara repeats blankly. “Did someone say.”

It won't do, Lee thinks, to have such a great man feeling unloved or unappreciated. Lee sets his sights on correcting Gaara’s errors in self-perception, on ensuring that he knows just how noble and inspirational he is.

“If someone did say that, I would ignore them,” Lee insists. “I know people tend to think I’m a little overenthusiastic – that’s what Sakura said, the last time we were speaking about her virtues as an advisor – but I’m also a father. I want my son to be the best he can be and I want him to be _inspired_ by the best people I know. He spends a great deal of time with Naruto-kun and Sakura-san and of course Gai-sensei. I would be thrilled if he were able to spend time with you as well, Gaara-san.”

A small crease forms on Gaara’s forehead. Beneath all of the dark make-up, his eyes are bright. “And you, Lee.”

Does he mean that Ichiro spends time with Lee or that Lee should spend more time with Gaara? Surely the former.

The heat prickling at the back of his neck returns. “I try to guide him through the springtime of his youth and cultivate all of the virtues in him that Gai-sensei fostered in me. Honesty, honour, nobility, generosity, integrity! Worth aspirations for anyone!”

Gaara stands abruptly, pacing over to the window in the small room. He pushes back the curtain and looks outside at the city beyond. “What happened to his mother.” A flat statement, more than a question. “I knew you had a child. I’ve asked after you over the years. I hadn’t realized you were raising him by yourself.”

Lee feels, as he always does, a sickening twist in his stomach. It’s not something to be ashamed of, he knows that. Ichiro _certainly_ has nothing to be ashamed of – but it can be a hard thing to explain. How he failed his son before Ichiro was even born.

“She showed up one day in Konoha with Ichiro in her arms,” Lee says. He, too, stands. It’s easier to talk about when he’s standing. “We’d worked on a mission together a year before and – well. My feelings for her were pure and real! She just –”

He stops. He doesn’t like to speak disrespectfully. Instead, he tries, “After we… spent our time together, I offered to move to her village if she didn’t want to live in Konoha. She wasn’t interested. She was very focused on her career! It’s good when people have passions.”

Gaara still isn't watching Lee. He stares out the window, perfectly still, although his shoulders are tense. “So you had sex with her and then she showed up with a child.”

“Yes,” Lee says, drawing the word out. He doesn't like to put it like that because it cheapens what they shared. For him, at least. She seemed to want to pretend that their magical communion had never happened. “She told me that she couldn’t keep him any longer. It was already embarrassing enough and she had too many things to manage without raising a child. I offered again to come and live in her village so that she could see Ichiro whenever she wanted to, but she said that would just make things worse.”

Gaara turns sharply, his face a brittle mask. “What was embarrassing?”

His breath is coming a little harder now, heat sitting underneath the skin of his cheeks. “Well,” Lee says.

“I don’t understand,” Gaara says, voice a perfect monotone. “What was embarrassing?”

Lee has to say it, he supposes. Gaara is too good of heart to think of it on his own. He is too good of a friend.

“That she had – That we’d celebrated in the fullness and purity of love. Having a child that looks so much like me was too much. She said her reputation had already suffered. She didn’t need it suffering more.” The words are hard in his throat, like choking on pieces of bone, so Lee pushes through as he might push through the threshold of pain in an exercise routine meant to improve him. Truths are always better spoken than clamped down inside!

“In any case,” he finishes, “I don’t mind! Ichiro makes me incredibly happy! He is the heart of my life! Fatherhood is a grand pinnacle of a man’s existence, the chance to shape a young mind with love and trust and comfort. I consider myself very lucky indeed to have such a gift.”

Silence fills the room. Gaara’s arms are folded hard across his body, his eyes narrow. After a long moment, he says, “I fail to see why she would be embarrassed.”

He truly is a remarkable friend. “Gaara-san,” Lee says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, “you’re too kind to think this, but some people find me… odd. I know there are people who think me a bit of a joke! It’s alright! I don’t need their approval; I have many excellent friends and work very hard to be an asset to my village.”

“There are people who think you a joke,” repeats Gaara.

“Uh, yes.” Lee shifts his weight, suddenly feeling too-hot underneath all of his clothes.

The confirmation shatters the Kazekage’s perfect and unnerving stillness. Gaara snorts, a bitter and jagged sound. “Absurd. You’re one of the most capable shinobi I know. You’re loyal and hard-working _to a fault_. You’re an attractive man. I fail to see why anyone could be embarrassed of you.”

Lee freezes, feeling as if he’s been pinned in place by several cleverly thrown kunai. “You think – I’m attractive?”

Gaara flicks him annoyed look. “Yes. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Lee blurts, “No, not at all! It’s just – There are many virtues of character that can be developed and refined. Being _attractive_ is not one of them and it’s _certainly_ not one I think that I –”

“What village is she from?”

Lee blinks.

“Ichiro’s mother. What village is she from?” In his eyes, a dangerous light flickers, his features again as hard as if they were carved from sandstone.

Lee understands a great many things of this world, enough that he knows he should keep his mouth shut. “Nowhere important,” he offers as a deflection.

“Tell me where she’s from. I’ll cut off trade.”

He stares at the Kazekage blankly. Gaara would – cut off trade?

“I shouldn’t be the reason an entire village suffers!” Lee insists. “Her reasons may not have been noble, but that’s hardly cause to –”

“The people who would say that to you are the same who think I’m a monster. Cold. Unfeeling. I don’t want their goods. I don’t want their shinobi. Suna can do without them.”

It doesn’t matter that Gaara thinks he’s being kind. It’s still wrong and Lee won’t capitulate. He has a village’s well-being to look out for! A woman’s honour to still defend! He doesn’t betray those who fail to live up to their potential, because tomorrow always provides the opportunity for growth.

Lee tries to change the topic instead. Sometimes, when an opponent is stubbornly attacking a single point, it’s best to do something unexpected. Something to throw them off balance.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Lee asks.

Gaara frowns. “Am I seeing anyone.”

He does seem to like repeating questions in a monotone, which has the effect of making whatever was just said sound spectacularly dense. Lee swallows, throat hot, his skin still flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and – well. Gaara said he was _attractive_.

“Yes!” Lee says, “You’re a powerful man with a good heart. You’re very –”

Well, if he did Lee the favour, Lee might as well be honest with him. Although of course he already knows what Lee thinks on this count. “You’re handsome,” Lee finishes, flushing even more deeply. The tips of his ears burn.

Gaara stares at him for a beat, his eyes wide, and then he tears his gaze away. “Naruto said you would ask me,” he murmurs, not to Lee but to himself. “I didn’t believe him. I thought it was a joke.”

In the distance, a door bangs open and Lee can hear Ichiro chattering happily to Kankuro, who must be finally bringing him back.

“Why do you want to know?” Gaara asks, pinning his attention on Lee again. The lines of his body are tense, as if he’s expecting a battle, his expression open and brittle and numbly confused.

“Because we’re friends!” Lee says. “And I want to ensure that whoever you’re seeing treats you as well as you deserve – with the purest of intentions and the most genuine respect and adoration!”

“You worry,” Gaara says slowly, as if testing the words out in his mouth, “that someone will take advantage of me. As someone took advantage of you.”

The door to the room opens, Ichiro bursting through, Kankuro a step behind him. Ichiro’s face is streaked with purple paint, an echo of the marks Kankuro wore at the Chuunin exams all those years ago. “Dad!” he says, launching himself through the air at Lee, who catches him and throws him over one shoulder, glad to have the distraction.

But Ichiro squirms out of Lee’s grasp as soon as he sees Gaara. “Kazekage-sensai,” he breathes. “Did you see my face? Did you – Kankuro-san, did you tell him about what you’re showing me?”

“Kid’s a natural with puppets,” Kankuro drawls, leaning against the doorframe. "Wouldn't have thought your whelp would be able to do ninjutsu, but he's got some talent." Even with the casual slant of his body, though, Lee can see the bright attention in Kankuro’s eyes. The curiosity, as his attention flicks from Gaara to Lee and back again.

Well, why shouldn’t two friends talk about love? There’s nothing more natural than that.

“You don’t need to call me that,” Gaara says, looking down at Ichiro, whose face is tilted proudly up at him. Whose smile is brighter than the noon sun over the desert. “Gaara is fine.”

Ichiro’s eyes flare wide, his mouth popping open. He takes a deep breath. “Gaara-sensei,” he says, voice low and serious, “I will honour you in all that I do.”

“Your father’s son,” Gaara murmurs, before turning and walking out the door.

Kankuro watches him go, then throws Lee a questioning look, eyebrows high on his forehead. “What’d you say, Lee? I haven’t seen him _that_ thrown off for a long time.”

Lee is saved from trying to answer that question – _I told him he’s handsome; I asked him if he’s seeing anyone; I told him I wanted to be sure he was being treated as well as he deserves!_ – by Ichiro, who crawls up to the window and watches Gaara leave the building. “Dad,” he says, “When we leave, can we come back soon? I want Kankuro-san to show me more about the puppets and I want Gaara-sensei to take me out in the _desert_ again.”

“Let’s go ask the Hokage,” Lee says brightly. Kankuro shrugs and wanders away through the streets of Suna, while Lee and Ichiro head outside the city walls to see if they can track Naruto in his supreme efforts to avoid working with Sakura and Temari on their finalized agreement.

The desert beyond the city is bright and pale and hot, the horizon shimmering.

A rare thing, and a beautiful thing. A place to be cherished.

*

 


	5. v

_If caution can be tempered and conditions are right, cacti reveal their most hidden depths: they bloom. Rare colours and fragrant flowers light across the desert, turning what was once a barren place into a celebration of all that is possible when the stars align. Festooned with blossoms, cacti invite pollinators to come and sample their wares instead of threatening harm to those who venture too close. As cautious as cacti are, as carefully turned inward, they can also open outward and share their glory with the world._

*

"You never wrote. You said you would, but you didn't. Yet you still insist we're friends. Explain."

It isn't the opening Lee expects when he's summoned to the Kazekage’s office the night before they leave for Konoha.

In truth, he’s not sure he has an answer. It was a complicated period in his life – after _everything that had happened_. After Lee had tried very hard to swallow his own embarrassment so that he might be able to think about writing to Gaara without sweat beading across his forehead, Riko had shown up on his doorstep with a crying child in her arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing stiffly near the doorway.

Gaara is sitting on his desk, legs folded, his stare piercing as a shuriken behind the darkness lining his eyes. “You’re sorry,” repeats Gaara. He body leans forward, like a kunai curving toward a target. “ _Sorry_.”

He supposes Gaara is owed an explanation. Lee knows he failed as a friend – in too many ways! – and his own failures must be made up if they would be turned into chances for growth and victory.

“I thought I embarrassed you,” Lee says, “although, of course, you had nothing to be embarrassed about! I told myself I would write you an apology, but it was, uh, difficult to find the words.” Heat rises underneath Lee’s skin, as radiant as the desert sand after it’s baked underneath the sun all day. “I acted very rudely and didn’t want to bother you! And once I thought I’d give you enough time to –”

He almost says recover, but hastily switches to a different word. “ _Think_ about things and forgive me, Ichiro’s mother showed up and then I had a baby to take care of. In the end, there’s no excuse, Gaara-san! I hope that I can one day make up my failures to you! If not for my sake, then for Ichiro’s. You’ve been very kind to us, despite the many ways in which I’ve disappointed you.”

His head jerks down in an unsteady and unfinished bow.

The room is perfectly silent. Lee raises his head slightly to look at the Kazekage, who is still perched on his desk, completely still. Like a snake waiting to strike.

Gaara’s nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowing, and he unfolds his body and slides from the desk. “You kissed me,” he says, voice flat.

The flush will not dissipate and the back of Lee’s neck prickles with sweat. “Uh, yes,” he says.

Because he had. Gaara had been in Konoha for talks with several of the hidden villages about creating a more open and cooperative village system. He and Lee spent quite a bit of time together and then they’d been on the rooftop of Lee’s apartment building looking over the village and the moonlight was silver and glorious and Gaara’s skin was pale, his eyes dark and –

Well, Lee _had_ kissed him, because if he didn’t he thought his heart might rip itself apart with the immensity and purity of his feelings. Feelings that he had nursed most tenderly for more years that he liked to admit, because when a person was so magnificently in love he ought to shout it from the rooftops, not hide it away! So he kissed Gaara and told him that he loved him with all the goodness his heart could muster – which was a fair amount of goodness.

Gaara had stood there, perfectly and completely still, as if he were a statue. Both when Lee kissed him, Gaara’s hands remaining still by his sides, and when Lee professed his feelings with such earnest enthusiasm. Lee _may_ have said something about finding his true purpose in being by Gaara’s side and his unending devotion, unchanged by the years and the trials and tribulations they had faced too early in their young lives.

Whatever the words, they were apparently too much. Gaara had blinked once, and then said in his perfect monotone, “I need to go.” And he had gone, dropping off the edge of the roof and disappearing into the night.

In a hot flash of panic, standing alone in the dark under the distant moon, Lee realized he’d done it again: mistaken what _he_ was feeling for what someone _else_ was feeling, rushing headlong into proclaiming the depths of his affections when they weren’t reciprocated. So he dutifully avoided Gaara until the Kazekage’s delegation prepared to leave, at which point Lee swooped in and cheerfully told Gaara he would write, pumping his hand in a firm, friendly, and manly handshake.

He wouldn’t have Gaara feeling uncomfortable! He couldn’t have that.

But Lee hadn’t written. Hasn’t written. Has never once put pen to paper.

He stopped being able to explain it even to himself a long time ago.

Gaara’s eyes narrow. He steps closer and, despite himself, Lee feels his heel inch backwards. He hasn’t seen this particular look on Gaara’s face since – well, not since Shukaku was pulled from him. “You said,” Gaara continues, “that you loved me. You lied.”

“No!” Lee insists, hands flashing up into the air. “No, it was true!”

“ _Was_.” Gaara stops, drawing up short. He stands only a few feet from Lee, his hair a dark shadow across his forehead.

His breath has grown slightly uneven, a painful thing. “Uh,” Lee says.

Well, does he still love Gaara?

He knows the answer the instant he thinks it. Of _course_ he does – but he will love him with the nobility of the greatest friendship! Lee refuses to make his friend uncomfortable, not after they’ve gone so many years without being able to revel in the purity and nobility of companionship.

“It _is_ true,” Lee says. “Our friendship will once again be a shining highlight of my life!”

Gaara takes another step. “You said _she_ appeared on your doorstep before you could write to me. You had sex with her before you kissed me.”

Lee blinks. Does Gaara think Lee was using him as a replacement? “It was unconnected,” Lee begins.

“Stop.” A sharp word, so Lee falls to silence, his heart pounding in his ears.

“You,” Gaara says slowly, “had sex with this woman and offered to stay by her side. She rejected you. You kissed me and told me you loved me. I left.” His eyes narrow again. “You thought – you _believed_ the same thing was happening.”

Lee’s face is burning, his body very nearly pressed back against the door to Gaara’s office. “Yes,” he offers. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable! I realized that I had and –”

Gaara’s hand shoots out and fastens hard on Lee’s wrist, and it’s only because it’s _Gaara_ that Lee doesn’t automatically deflect the blow and sink into a defensive stance. Gaara, however, can sneak past Lee’s guard and Lee won’t resist, because Lee _knows_ Gaara and trusts him implicitly. Completely.

The Kazekage pulls his stare away from Lee, looks down to the ground. “Six years, Lee,” he says.

Gaara’s fingers are cool against his skin, but his touch is hard – none of the gentleness with which he’d stitched Lee back together.

“Six years?” Lee breathes.

His eyes flash back to Lee’s, full of fire, and he angles his body closer so that Lee can smell his skin, sand, heat, and spice. “Wasted.” Gaara spits it out, a bitter little word. “I’d never – _how could you not know this?_ ”

In an instant, he’s released Lee’s wrist and turned, pacing away, a hand pressed to his forehead.

Lee hardly breathes, watching the Kazekage carefully. Gaara scrubs his hand through his hair, casting another almost frantic look at Lee. “I’d never been kissed before. I had no idea what to do. You didn’t _know_ that?”

It’s as if Lee is standing on the edge of the canyon again, the wind whipping around him, sand stinging his skin.

A laugh, jagged. “Of course, I’ve been kissed _since_.” He pauses, frowns, some of the wildness leaving his eyes. “I was sure you would write. When you didn’t, I thought you had made a wiser decision.”

“A wiser decision!” Lee blurts, unable to bite back the words. “There is nothing better than the swelling of love! And there isn’t anyone greater than you! There still isn’t anyone who can even compare –”

Gaara takes a hard, deep breath, an almost violent gasp. “You –” He shakes his head, stepping in close again, so that the hard planes of his body hover just above Lee’s skin. “You’re _infuriating_.”

Lee has just enough time to stare blankly at Gaara at a loss for words and to register the flushed heat in every limb, the pounding in every vein in his body, when Gaara’s hands grasp hard against either side of Lee’s face and he kisses him viciously.

He mouth is hard, unforgiving – a kiss more teeth than tongue, but Lee’s hands are suddenly at Gaara’s hips, pressing to the small of his back, feeling the bump of his spine beneath the thin clothes, the heat of his body and –

Gaara tears his mouth away, hands slamming Lee’s shoulders back against the door. “You’re _leaving_ ,” he snaps.

Lee nods numbly. His lips are swollen, his jumpsuit suddenly _very much_ too tight. He notices with a jolt of surprise that Gaara’s cheeks are flushed, his clothes rumpled, that he’s breahing in in hard little pants.

“Unacceptable. You and Ichiro will stay until the end of the week. And then we’ll talk about what happens next.”

Another numb nod. Lee is aware of the pounding of his heart in his chest. He wonders distantly if it might burst from the sheer volume of this feeling – the heat, yes, but the light and shimmering thing that might possibly be _joy_.

Gaara makes a sound that is almost a breathy laugh. “ _Six years_.”

He’s still close enough that Lee might lean in and kiss him back – Lee might _never_ stop kissing him, now that he knows he’s allowed.

Instead, Lee clears his throat. “Ichiro tells me,” he says once he feels like he can speak words in a voice that isn’t husky, “that there are some species of cacti that take years to blossom. You know that, of course, but it is still an amazing thing! You’re an excellent teacher, Gaara. He is full of enthusiasm for all Suna has to offer!”

“If you compare us to cacti,” Gaara says flatly, “I will make you leave.”

So Lee doesn’t, and Gaara lets him stay through the night after arranging for Ichiro to camp out at Kankuro’s. After they celebrate their glorious reunion, Lee tucks his cheek against the smooth curve of Gaara’s shoulder, Gaara’s fingers tracing thoughtlessly the jagged little cut that he’d stitched with cactus spines in the middle of the desert.

This is good, Lee thinks dreamily. This is better than good. It is magnificent – the blossoming of love. Finding something so important and so beautiful and so rare in the middle of the barren landscape of mistakes and failures.

He sleeps well for the first time in months. Finally, peaceful. At rest and at home.

*


	6. Epilogue

*

Gaara walks into Lee’s apartment without knocking, wrapped in his red travelling cloak, the fabric pulled over his head in a hood that leaves his face in shadow. He would be an intimidating figure, except that Lee knows it’s Gaara and he can only ever feel a giddy happiness when Gaara darkens his doorway. Lee smiles up from where he’s making breakfast. “You’re early!” he exclaims, beaming.

A small nod, Gaara pushing the hood down from his head. His cloak is dusty, crumpled from travel. They must have come quickly from Suna; they shouldn’t have been here until this afternoon.

Kankuro follows Gaara into the apartment, throwing himself down at Lee’s table. “Tea?”

Lee already has a cup out and is pouring some for Kankuro when he makes the request. Gaara slips toward the back of the apartment back to Ichiro’s narrow bedroom. A delighted squeal splits the quiet of the apartment.

Kankuro’s forehead wrinkles. “He’s _louder_ ,” he says, taking a long draw from his tea.

“His youthful enthusiasm is a source of inspiration,” Lee supplies. He pours another cup of tea for Gaara, once he returns from visiting Ichiro. They have – Lee glances at the clock on the wall – a little time before Ichiro has to be off for school. Time enough for his son to eat.

Ichiro bounces into the kitchen, carrying the small cactus he’s been tending to fastidiously over the intervening months since they were in Suna. Gaara follows him, slipping to the table and taking a seat by Lee’s side. His hand brushes Lee’s back as he passes – the ghost of a touch, but it makes Lee’s skin tingle.

“Look!” Ichiro proclaims, setting the cactus down in front of Kankuro. “I overwintered it just like _Gaara-san said_ and it’s going to _flower_.” A finger jabs at a little raised nub on the plant. “See, Kankuro-san!”

“Oh, I see alright,” Kankuro drawled, taking another long drink from his tea. “Hurry up and eat, kid. I’m taking you to school.”

Ichiro sets to shovelling his breakfast down his mouth, stopping to chew only when Lee reminds him.

Gaara angles his body toward Lee’s and Lee reaches out to press a hand to the plane of his back, the space between his shoulderblades. “You made excellent time,” Lee says, as Ichiro finishes the last of his food and rushes away to wash his face and get his pack.

“ _Someone_ was _eager_ ,” Kankuro supplies drily. At Gaara’s pointed look, he coughs, stands and stretches.

Ichiro emerges from the back of the apartment, throwing himself at Lee, arms curling around Lee’s neck. “Bye, Dad. Love you!” The words are spoken against Lee’s neck, perhaps a little perfunctory but they still warm Lee from his core to his fingertips.

Ichiro drops off of Lee and scrambles over him to Gaara, wriggling on to his lap and snaking his hands around the Kazekage’s neck.

Gaara stiffens, patting Ichiro’s back once.

“Gaara-san,” Ichiro says, pulling back. “Can we play after school?”

“No,” Gaara says, blinking down at him. “I have meetings.”

Ichiro wrinkles his nose, but jumps down anyway and flies to Kankuro’s side, reaching up to grasp the puppet master’s hand in his own. Together, they head out the door and are gone in a trail of Ichiro’s happy chattering.

Alone, finally. Lee shuffles closer to Gaara.

“Lee,” says Gaara. “Your living room is full of boxes.”

“Ah, yes. About that.” Lee coughs a little, shifts his weight.

“Sakura already talked to you about the position.” A statement, not a question. Gaara’s eyes narrow. “We haven’t completed negotiations yet – it’s why we’ve come.”

“Well,” Lee says.

He thinks carefully about how to describe that particular conversation. Sakura-san had shown up at his apartment on afternoon while he was completing a report on his latest mission. “We’re sending a group of our computer engineers and mechanics to help establish the manufacturing sector in Suna, in exchange for economic benefits on the trade of the components and raw minerals mined from the desert.”

“Okay,” Lee said, trying to sound interested. He wasn’t sure why she’d come speak to _him_ about this. Lee knew nothing about computers! He still hadn’t figured out how to help Ichiro with his homework when he had to research and write reports. Lee’s was a mind suited best for the realms of the physical and the virtuous, not the digital or the virtual.

“We’re going to need one of our shinobis to take up residence in Suna – an envoy, of sorts, and someone who can ensure that our workers are settling in well, that they’re integrating and are safe.”

“Okay,” Lee said again.

“We’d like you to go,” she continued. “Naruto’s ready to sign the papers, but I wanted to – Well. I wanted to be sure that _you_ wanted to go. With Ichiro, of course.”

“I’m greatly honoured to receive such an important posting!” Lee said brightly, fist thrust into the air. “I will endeavour to bring great pride to Konoha and its people and –”

“ _Lee_ ,” Sakura said, grabbing his fist and pushing it down to his side. Her lips thinned into a serious line, something thoughtful and concerned.

Sakura, concerned about Lee!

“I just wanted to be sure that – you’re ready. To live in Suna.” She paused and sighed at Lee’s blank look. “I won’t let Naruto sign anything unless you’re sure about _Gaara_ ,” she said. “I know you’re seeing each other – Naruto is _ecstatic_ and has _not_ stopped gloating, even six months later – but he’s not the sort of person you… take up with when you’re unsure. He knows we’re considering you for the position, but it’s not a guaranteed posting. I need you to tell me where you stand.”

Lee had started packing that same night.

“Sakura-san asked me if I’d like the posting,” Lee offers cheerily, “And I said yes!”

Gaara watches him, hands resting on either leg. A tense, wary posture. “It’s not just a posting,” he says eventually. “I’d like you to stay with me. In my home.”

“Good!” Lee says. “Although – well. Ichiro isn’t exactly tidy. I do my best, Gaara, but he’s still a child. I will endeavour to never get in your way! If I do, I’ll –”

He’s cut off with a kiss, Gaara grasping the back of his head and pulling him in tight.

As usual, Lee loses feeling in his fingers, his heart fluttering as if it’s a bird inside his chest. All soft feathers and tiny little claws and insistence.

“You offered to move for _her_ twice,” he says when he breaks away, each syllable edged with no small amount of hurt.

“You’re the Kazekage! I didn’t want to bother you, Gaara,” Lee says, hand clasped against Gaara’s upper arm. His thumb moves in a little semi-circle.

“You don’t bother me. Ichiro doesn’t bother me. I’m _bothered_ when you’re here and I’m in Suna.” His stare is full of heat, like the flaring of embers in the wind.

A wind that knocks the breath right out of Lee. He laughs, a small and breathy sound. “Well,” Lee says after he regains his footing, “Good! You don’t think it will be too soon, if Ichiro and I go back with you when you finish your meetings in Konoha?”

“Six years ago might have been better,” says Gaara, leaning in again. His eyes are hooded, dark and bright at once. “I’ll allow it now, however.”

It’s fortunate that Gaara and his delegate ran through the night to arrive in Konoha early, Lee thinks dizzily, as Gaara leads him silently and firmly back to the bedroom. Gaara’s final meetings don’t start until the middle of the afternoon. They have hours to spend celebrating in the fullness of their glorious love.

Then Lee can finish packing and soon enough they’ll have forever. An unending brightness like the unfurling of blossoms in the springtime. Or in the desert after rains, every hard and dangerous cactus crowned in colourful flowers, all dangers given way to resplendence.

Six years, Lee thinks, and now everything is right. The opening of hearts like the revelation of the secrets of the desert, unfolding piece by piece by piece until everything is unending magnificence, beauty and goodness where there had once been pain. After a period of dormancy, endless glory.

 

**Author's Note:**

> My _eternal thanks_ to [alestar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alestar) for prompting me to write this fic. I meant to write a drabble; I wrote this instead! And, dang, it was so much fun. This pairing is my undying OTP.
> 
> Very much influenced by my all time favourite piece of fanfiction period, Maldoror's [_Diplomatic Relations_](http://maldoror-gw.livejournal.com/30383.html). Talk about formative fiction! DR is my ideal for what fanfiction can and should do at its best.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Through The Spines Unfurling (Five Things You Should Know About Cacti)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679034) by [itachitachi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi)




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